


How to Save a Galaxy in Approx. Ten Easy Steps: An Intergalactic Spacetime Adventure Guide for Dummies

by ester_inc



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, super not serious, technically speaking there's time travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5898550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ester_inc/pseuds/ester_inc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a slight mishap with the Infinity Stones, and the Guardians of the Galaxy end up guarding… the wrong galaxy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**I. Tuesdays Are Never a Good Idea**

"So," Peter said, looking at the scene unfolding outside the Milano. "It's Tuesday."

Rocket, standing on one of the chairs in the cockpit, rocked on his feet. "We don't know where or _when_ we are. It could be Moonday for all we know, but if we're placing bets, I'll go with, whatchamacallit, Friday? Has that Friday feel."

"I am Groot."

"See? Friday."

"I don't know, guys," Peter said. "I'm definitely not getting a party vibe from these gentlemen."

"I do not feel any kind of vibrations," Drax said. "And I'm dubious of your assessment that these are gentle men."

"I didn't mean –" Peter cut himself off with a sigh.

"They're pointing weapons at us." Gamora tilted her head very slightly. "Weapons I'm not familiar with. Unusual."

Rocket moved forward, almost stepping off the chair, and Peter hastily tugged him to safety by the back of his suit, avoiding the following snap of teeth with reflexes honed by painful past experiences.

"What's your problem, Quill?" Rocket said. "Gamora's right, I ain't ever seen guns like those. We should go take a closer look. One quick peek, that's all I need."

"That white armor does not look well made," Drax intoned. "If they attempt to stop us, I will tear them apart with ease."

"Okay, no one's tearing anyone apart. There's five of us," Peter said, gesturing at them, "and kind of a lot of probably-not-that-gentle people-of-unknown-gender out there, so, I'm saying, we should at least consider surrendering. Just for now!" The exclamation did nothing to get rid of the frowns directed at him from all sides. "We can un-surrender later. When we've, you know, gotten the lay of the land."

Drax gave the humongous hangar bay they were in a somewhat pointed look. "We are located on a spaceship within another spaceship."

"Look," Peter said, aiming for his _I-am-an-adult-and-also-kind-of-team-leader-by-semi-popular-vote-and-by-the-way-this-is-still-technically-my-ship-so-there_ tone of voice. He was still working on getting it right; results varied. "They pulled us in with some kind of gravitational field thingy, so we can't just fly out and be on our way. And, _and_ , as we've already established, we don't have any idea what sort of weapons they have. I swear, and I'm not kidding this time, if we have to shell out for yet another new layer of paint for the Milano, those units are not coming from my share."

"It was a scratch!" Rocket said. "Completely accidental and entirely unavoidable."

"I am Groot."

Rocket glared up at Groot. "Whose side are you on, anyway?" 

"I _am_ Groot."

Rocket threw his hands up. "It could have happened to anyone!"

Peter cleared his throat. Rocket kept glaring at Groot, and Groot – oh, great, Groot was eating bits of himself again. Peter cleared his throat, more forcefully this time, and Drax thumped him on the back hard enough that he almost puked up his lungs.

"Quill has a point," Gamora said.

"Yes, _thank you_ ," Peter said, wheezing.

"I'm often glad to help my friends," said Drax. "I do not require thanks."

Gamora ignored them both. "Someone's approaching the ship."

"There's lots of someones approaching the ship. Sure, most of them are standing still while surrounding the ship, but technicalities aside –" Rocket fell quiet when Gamora pointed at the back of the hangar bay. He scrambled up to Groot's shoulders, frowning as the sea of white parted for a person-of-unknown-gender wearing a different kind of mask.

"Oh, look, a dude in black," Peter said. "That's always a good sign."

"This has not been my experience," said Drax.

"Nor mine," said Gamora, expressionless but for the glint in her eye that made Peter suspect this was one of those times she was going along with Drax just to see how long it would take for Peter to implode.

"It's the opposite of _my_ experience," Rocket said, "and yes, Quill, I speak sarcasm. But we all know how much value certain people on this ship put on my opinions."

"I am not familiar with this language," Drax said, ignoring Rocket's muttered _yeah no kidding_ , "nor am I certain of its relevance to this conversation."

"I am Groot," Groot said philosophically.

"Okay!" Peter clapped his hands together. "Surrender now, un-surrender later. We have a plan."

"That's not _even_ twelve percent of a plan," Rocket said, mutinous.

Drax crossed his arms. Gamora looked unimpressed. Groot ate another leaf.

"I'm putting my money on a Tuesday," Peter muttered. "This sort of thing always happens on Tuesdays."

After some negotiating and fine maneuvering, they eventually managed to surrender without causing too much property damage, injuries or hurt feelings. Okay, maybe scratch that last one. The important thing was that the Milano was intact, and the injuries all fell on the black-and-white side of the conflict.

As far as surrenders went, Peter would give this one a solid B. Room for improvement, sure, but not too bad, all considered. Now to figure out what the hell was this place, and how best to un-surrender from it.


	2. Chapter 2

**II. Darth Vader Wouldn't Tolerate This**

It would have been beneath Kylo Ren to personally interrogate whatever space trash General Hux happened to pick up, but for these five he'd decided to make an exception.

"We don't have them in the database, sir," a lieutenant had told him soon after the prisoners had been secured. "Their species, I mean," the lieutenant had added. "Sir."

The man had been projecting nervousness to the point it was headache-inducing, but mild annoyances aside, Kylo had still thought the day would turn out in his favor.

It should have been easy to skim the surface thoughts of the prisoners, to dive deeper when needed. He'd been almost looking forward to offering answers to questions Hux hadn't even thought to ask yet; the mental image of Hux's sour face tightening up in displeasure cheered him up like few things had of late. In hindsight, he should have stayed in his quarters, possibly under a blanket, because if recent events should have taught him anything, it was that _the entire universe_ was against him, and any and all unexpected additions to his day were likely to end up in a disaster of unimaginable proportions.

He'd started with the tree, and when he'd been unable to get anything from it, he hadn't been alarmed. A docile, barely sentient life form whose vocabulary appeared to consist of three words, total, was unlikely to have thoughts worth reading.

The rodent was more puzzling. It was sentient and clearly in possession of some intelligence, but when Kylo reached for its mind, all he got back was static, as if there was interference in the Force. To put insult to injury, the rodent was talkative. Talkative and rude.

"I was wondering," it was currently saying. "Does that mask have a purpose?"

There was a mounting sense of unease at the back of Kylo's mind, but he was still largely unconcerned about his apparent inability to read the rodent's mind.

"It's in fashion here to wear a helmet, I get that," the rodent said, "but I gotta ask. You can tell me, I won't judge. Are you horribly disfigured?"

Kylo's fingers twitched. He had the occasional moment of regret about refusing treatment for the wounds _that girl_ had left on his face. _Never again_ , he told himself every time he looked at the scars, but vivid reminders of the past weren't helping him _now_.

"Ooh," the rodent said. "Hey, masked wonder, I'll show you a trick. It's a great trick, but I need your helmet for it. It's only for a sec."

Kylo said nothing.

"Aw, come on, it'll be hilarious, I promise. We'll both laugh."

Kylo held out a hand, determined to choke the little pest and see who was left laughing, but the Force slipped and slid around the rodent's throat, ineffectual.

Far from being intimidated, the rodent's ears twitched in annoyance. "What's that supposed to mean? Some sorta code? I don't speak black gloves of evil, jackass, but while we're on topic, is it 'menacing' you're going for with that getup, or 'try-hard'? Coz depending on your answer, have I got some bad news for you."

Kylo dropped his hand, turned on his heel and strode out of the room. The rodent's cackling followed him into the hall.

It was fine. It was just something about this specific species. Given more time, he'd figure it out. In the meantime, there were still three more candidates, all of them more human-like than the first two, and unlike the first two, the green woman fit into the interrogation chair. 

Kylo tried using the Force to pull out her thoughts. He tried choking her. He tried lifting a _single strand of her hair_ and found even that beyond him. It was preposterous. Infuriating. It had to be something about her species, except that excuse was starting to ring hollow.

She looked bored. No one had dared to be _bored_ around Kylo since he was a teenager, and after several minutes of getting nowhere, Kylo snapped and fired up his lightsaber. At the last possible moment, he regained enough sense to carve a long gouge into the wall rather than through her. If nothing else, Hux would have been impossible to live with if Kylo destroyed another chair so soon after the previous one.

At least she didn't look bored anymore, although, and much to Kylo's displeasure, she didn't look afraid, either. If anything, her expression was that of mild intrigue.

"This may be the strangest interrogation I've been to," she said, contemplative. "What kind of weapon is that?"

 _What kind of_ – 

Enough was enough. Kylo turned around in a swirl of robes, telling the stormtroopers outside to take the woman back to her cell and bring him the more normal looking of the remaining two.

The more normal looking of the remaining two was not an improvement.

"How ya doing?" The man wiggled and twisted, testing how much movement the chair allowed him. "Quill is the name, Peter Quill, though you may know me better as _Star-Lord_." He gave Kylo a hopeful look. "Star-Lord? No? Nothing?" Peter Quill aka Star-Lord slumped in his restraints. "That's okay, I get that a lot. Or I used to, so I'm used to it, you know?"

Despite Quill looking more human than his companions, the Force was no more cooperative with him than with the rest. It was maddening.

Quill eyed the gouge in the wall and took another moment to examine the chair. "I told them, you know? My friends? They insisted you had the look of an evil organization, and I told them, hey, maybe you're a _nice_ evil organization. But that's really not the vibe I'm getting here, so… my bad. I totally own that, and if you'd be willing to testify on my behalf, I'd really appreciate it. Rocket gets mean about these things, and I mean, _mean_."

There were five of them. Would it be so bad to slaughter one of them before he got his answers? Just one?

"Hey, I don't suppose you've seen an orb lying around? Well, not an orb exactly, this one's more of a cube. It's nothing important, just something I lost. Sentimental value, family heirloom, that sort of thing. No? Hey. Hey! Okay, man, good talk."

The doors slid shut behind Kylo. "Bring me the brute," he said.

It was a mistake. Aside from getting nothing useful out of the dimwit, he nearly got himself stabbed by a piece of what used to be an interrogation chair. He threw stormtroopers – literally, so at least the Force was still good for _something_ – at the maniac while making a hasty but dignified exit.

"He did what?" General Hux asked flatly when Kylo got around to telling him about the chair.

"He informed me, also, that the stormtrooper armor is flimsy and not very well made," Kylo helpfully reported, getting a mean spark of satisfaction from the way Hux's painfully straight spine straightened another degree in offense.

Hux's nostrils flared. "And after all this, what have we learned?"

 _We_ , as if Hux had done anything but stand around uselessly while Kylo did all the work. Not that he had learned much, but it was the principle of the thing.

"I can't read them," Kylo said, because it was true, it meant _something_ , and if he lied to Hux now, he'd regret it the next time they spoke to Snoke.

Hux covered his surprise well. There was only the briefest pause, the slightest hesitation, before he said: "Are they scavengers, perhaps? You've had trouble with those in the past."

Kylo bared his teeth, the expression safely hidden behind his mask, and reached out with the Force. He put the barest hint of pressure to Hux's throat, a touch so light Hux would be left wondering if he was imagining it.

"They're looking for something. A cube of some sort. Valuable."

Hux cleared his throat. "It's a start."

An explosion somewhere on the ship made the deck vibrate under their feet.

"Sir!" said a stormtrooper, coming to an abrupt stop in front of them. "The prisoners! They've escaped."

There was only one place they could be heading to, and Kylo strode out of the room without another word. When he and a small contingent of stormtroopers ran into the prisoners in a hall near the hangar, he convinced himself that the frisson he felt was excitement, not fear.

"I'll take the leader," the green woman said to her companions, and then she was on him, quick and unexpectedly strong, her hand-to-hand combat method unlike anything he'd seen before. He was barely fast enough to duck her first attack and counter the second, all while fumbling for his lightsaber.

The prisoners finished the fight with distressing speed and competence. The maniac went through stormtroopers like paper, the tree was _not docile_ , and once Quill and the rodent got their hands on blasters, it was all over. The green woman kept Kylo occupied, and then, when her companions were clear, she slammed him to the ground and _took his lightsaber_.

"Nice!" Quill called out to her. "Can you get me one of those, too?"

"Eh," the rodent said, examining its stolen blaster even as they started wandering toward the hangar. "A red glowing stick, big deal. Gimme five minutes with the original, and I'll make you one. I won't ask for much in return. Call it charity."

"No, Rocket, I'm not giving you my next share."

"Half?"

"No!"

No. Impossible. Unfair. This was _not_ happening. Kylo reached out, and – there. His lightsaber flew out of the woman's hand. He cherished her yelp of surprise, the way she was briefly thrown off balance, but the moment of victory was short; she didn't stop, and the group disappeared around a corner just as the hilt of the lightsaber met the palm of Kylo's hand. He pushed himself to his feet and stepped over the stormtroopers cluttering up the hallway. 

He followed the prisoners at a sedate pace. He wasn't looking forward to a rematch so soon, and surely, surely Hux and Phasma had the hangar secured. There were hundreds of stormtroopers aboard the Finalizer. A ragtag team of five, no matter how skilled or insane, would not escape so easily.

When he got to the hangar, however, it was to the sight of that strange, blue and orange ship taking off. He reached out to it, instinctive, thinking he could yank it back just like his lightsaber, see how they liked _that_ – but it slipped from his grasp like everything else to do with these savages.

The ship flew out of the hangar and into the darkness of space, unimpeded. Kylo looked at the carnage around him, singling out a stormtrooper who was making enough noise to definitely count as alive.

"The tractor beam?"

"The – the explosion," the stormtrooper gritted out. "Sir."

Kylo Ren stood there for another moment, still as a statue, a monument to his failures. He turned and left the hangar, his long strides and determined, purposeful air dissuading anyone who might have had questions for him.

The door for his quarters closed behind him with quiet efficiency, and he sat on the edge of his bed.

His grandfather's mask stared back at him, a silent judge, taunting and daunting in equal measures.

He was worthy. The blood, the sacrifices, everything he'd done to get here – he would not let a tree, a rodent, a woman, a maniac, and a man who called himself _Star-Lord_ to have the last laugh.

He would find them, and he would make them pay.


End file.
